


In Storm He Delights

by Vulgarweed



Series: Their Terrible Sharpness [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ainur Are Weird, BDSM, Bathing, Bondage, Competitive sex, Consentacles, Demanding Power Bottom John, Dom Sherlock, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Dubious Consentacles, Interspecies, M/M, Merman Sherlock, Ossë Has Tentacles Because He Wants To, Possessive Sherlock, Power Exchange, Rough Sex, Shapeshifting, Song Battles, Tentacles, Threesome - M/M/M, Water Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8509156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulgarweed/pseuds/Vulgarweed
Summary: Slightly spoiled by the safety of Menegroth, Iaun wanders far from the city and takes a swim in the River Sirion - and finds himself in the clutches of questionable Ossë, the Maia of water and storms who was seduced for a time by Melkor himself. Iaun is not pleased by his concern-trolling and kink-shaming about the nature of his relationship with Sérelókë. Sérelókë is even less pleased.Insult is given; satisfaction is demanded.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jinglebell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinglebell/gifts).



Far be it from Iaun to resent the cosseting luxury of Menegroth - at least, as compared to the life in the forest he had known before. Certainly he did not disdain the pleasures of the table there, nor least of all the pleasures of the rooms he shared with the eccentric Maia called Sérelókë, his fastest friend on this side of the world.

Yet if Sérelókë had earned his place by his distant kinship to the realm’s queen Melian (for all of the Ainur are kin to one another in that they are born of the same moment of Eru’s thought, and forge their bonds of fellowship as like calls to like) and by the swift workings of his sight and his wit, then Iaun too must earn his own. He would prefer to have a claim in his own right, not just because Sérelókë was to him both lover and master.

For despite Sérelókë’s promises in his moments of passion, might not that fey creature tire of Iaun as quickly as he’d become enamoured? And it was not in Iaun’s nature to accept a life of idleness, not when the City of the Thousand Caves had so much to explore and to learn, so much work to be done in so many capacities.

Training with the march-wardens who patrolled the forests had given him a great gift already - the knowledge that his keen eye and swift reflexes remained, and the lingering stiffness of his old wound impaired him little with his bow-shots. Life in the underground city was not dulling his senses - joy returned to his heart and spryness to his limbs as he climbed trees and tracked animals like the child of the forest he had always truly been.

And if perhaps he wandered farther than was entirely advisable, chalk it up to a restlessness within him that missed the solitude of his long years awander. For Iaun found little to fear in the Forest of Brethil to the West nor the Forest of Region to the South. (Northward he wandered not, having already had entirely enough of the Nan Dungortheb to last even an immortal lifetime; had he not had the company of the clever and powerful Sérelókë or the fast and stalwart horse of the Valar, Certhasath, Iaun knew he would not have survived the hunger of the spiders - it had been a close escape for them all even so.)

But in realms where the influence of the Enemy was not so strong, forests and rivers beckoned to him freely. The River Sirion in particular sang to him; on the edge of the forest it was wide and gentle, and its waters clear and sweet and full of the comings and goings of fish and birds, the soft dragonfly-harboring shallows full of wispy green plants, called by the Sindar the hair of fair Uinen. Still, he knew its source was near the Mountains of Shadow, and its waters moved through troubled and sinister lands. Iaun would never be able to forget the stench of the carnage at the Fens of Serech, where Iaun and his companion had traveled before approaching the very gates of Angband, where Iaun had first borne witness to the true nature of Sérelókë’s power.

Far away did that terror seem when the clean-scented breeze whispered through the hanging willows and brought the cool kisses of Sirion’s waters over Iaun’s brow.

He had come to a wide-open curve of shoreline, where the trees parted to let the glare of the golden fireball in the sky warm the waters with ripples of bright white light. Iaun was still not used to the constant pressure of her heat on him when he left the dappled cover of the trees - so dense was her fire that over time it could gently turn skin a subtle bronze shade (and how fascinated was Iaun’s companion with this gradual change, how he lingered over faint lines where Iaun’s clothing separated the tones). Cool water would bring relief from the heat that lingered in Iaun’s protective boots and overtunic of soft leather.

Perhaps it was not completely wise to do this alone, but Iaun had always been a strong swimmer, and for all that there was much time and distance between them, his people still had distant kinship with the Teleri, the friends of the aquatic Ainur. Surely this river had departed the influence of Melkor and now was within the sphere of Melian. Rich were its rolling and murmuring sounds with the music of Ulmo, ever a steadfast friend to the Children of Ilúvatar.

So carefully now and with a practiced eye, Iaun searched out the best place to enter the inviting waters. A graceful old willow bent over a space where the banks tapered down to a flat place lined with smooth pebbles, and its branches would help him keep his clothes and arms close to hand - he would not be foolish enough to swim far from those. 

Carefully he removed his weapons, hanging bow and quiver in the sturdy branches far from the touch of the water, yet accessible to him with but one swift leap, and his belt with sword and dagger beside. New to him were these, made by the steelsmiths of Menegroth who traded the lore of their craft with the Naugrim, children of Aulë. When Iaun had laid his blade beside that of Sérelókë, whose sword was made by the genius of Noldorin hands across the sea, Iaun liked to think he saw little difference in aught but style. “Mark it well,” Sérelókë had said sadly. “The day will come when swords of these forges will be set against each other, in this land. Then will we know their true measure.”

“It is not the size nor even the temper of the sword,” Iaun had said. “But the quality of the warrior who wields it.”

And Sérelókë had smiled then, and they had sparred together with their swords not of steel, and Iaun had enflamed his master by withholding his surrender for as long as he could bear it. Always now did Iaun bear the bruises and bites and red lines of such duels, given in pleasure and love - but not lightly.

With relief Iaun opened the fastenings of his leather jerkin and soft undershirt, and laid them out carefully on the driest part of the ground, for the day-fire had been relentless, and even the tailors of Menegroth had not yet adjusted to the way her heat congealed between skin and clothing. The wind from the water cooled Iaun’s bare skin and made him shiver. He leaned against the willow’s broad trunk to brace himself to pull off his well-made boots, that were not yet fully shaped to his feet as his old ones had been. The blisters would pass and the leather would soften.

As he unlaced his breeches, he found that the pleasure of the breeze that stroked him, the anticipation of the cool water, the sight and pull of the welts and aches and marks placed upon him by Sérelókë, were alone enough to set his flesh-stalk budding. It was a sweet sensation, and he allowed himself one tug of his sweat-warmed hand, for his master was not present to command or forbid it. He felt no rush to completion, only a slow languid enjoyment of his own flesh and thoughts, soon to be cooled by the bliss of swimming.

Yet the very stings and pangs of his pleasure-wounds served to tempt him to greater heights as he stripped himself bare. Little doubt had he that Sérelókë would know if Iaun had chosen to indulge in self-delight without permission, and Iaun could never be sure in himself if desire to obey would ever prove the stronger urge than the longing for punishment. Still, there was much to be said for anticipation. With difficulty and regret, he lifted his hand from his half-stiff shaft and balanced himself upon a stone as he padded over the smooth pebbles and arching willow-roots, aiming for the gentle river-ford.

Kindly did the water lap and lick his feet and first, then his calves, then his thighs, soothing all his strain and weariness as he felt cleaned and lifted with each step. Even as the water silkily embraced his longing flesh, Iaun gave a deep sigh and let it take him, savouring each rise - to waist, to chest, to shoulders. The current was gentle and his limbs were strong. Pale clouds were veiling the bright sky-fire and making its stare in his eyes less harsh. Iaun closed his own eyes and leaned back and let the gentle rolling lift him off his feet and onto his back.

Water could be dangerous in so many ways, yet here in this place near the forest, sheltered by Melian’s enchantment, there was also security, for Iaun felt most of all a sense that he belonged. The water bolstered him up and cradled him steadily, a softly rolling nest for his head and his back while his feet kicked slowly. This was a bed no less comfortable than his luxuriant one at Menegroth, and if it lacked the protective heat of his master’s presence, it had at least the sun to shine down on him with her golden gaze - and he gave her the full sight of him, in unashamed glory.

There was peace in this trust, the giving-over of his body to the gentle draw of current. Iaun was a quick and strong swimmer who could rally fast if need be, secure in the song of Ulmo that murmurs though all the waters of Eä, the created world. Iaun dreamed of the waters of the broad and brown Anduin of his youth, and of the starlit pool where he had bathed with Sérelókë that first time, when they had perchance become the last lovers to first touch each other in the time of the stars, before moon and sun. Perhaps they had been the first pair unclothed and entangled that Tilion had looked down upon on from his shifting silver sky-vessel that traveled in the time now called night.

In his fond dream, Iaun closed his eyes, as Elves do rarely, even in sleep. The bright stare of the being in the sky whom Sérelókë called Arien turned to soft red in the skin of his eyelids, and then seemed to gentle, burning upon him not quite so brightly.

Had Iaun opened his eyes, he would have seen a change upon the mantle of the sky. Fair Arien now hid her bright face behind a grey veil, such as even Nienna might wear - in anticipation of sorrows to come. The river rocked him harder as waves rippled the water’s surface, and Iaun only began to start awake from his pleasant haze at a deep grumbling sound in the sky, now gone dark grey and wind-whipped. Quickly he roused and flipped over in the water to swim back towards shore, noticing that he had drifted further from his clothes and possessions than he had first thought. A storm approached, and now Iaun thought himself quite foolish to relax so, while naked and unarmed in surroundings that now seemed much less safe than they had been.

He was a quick and strong swimmer, but nowhere near a match for the being that had taken notice of him.

Not all the waves that lifted and swirled him were borne of the wind - from beneath the surface of the river itself, from the sand and the mud and the water weeds, rose a mighty force, taking form from the essence of the water, whirling and beginning to roar and growl. His song was like unto Ulmo’s, but a wilder, more dissonant form, and if Iaun had more knowledge of the Ainur, he would have recognized a fainter hint even of the theme of Melkor - buried and transformed, but still suggested for ever. Iaun gasped for air as his limbs felt heavy and the shore felt far away. The reeds at the riverbanks whipped in the wind, and the willows whirled their arms and bent low in the sheets of rain.

Iaun was captured - as much by a ring of circular chop as by the smooth grasping limbs that tangled with his own beneath the surface. The thrashing of a powerful creature had dimmed the water with mud from the bottom, and Iaun could no longer see past his own waist, could not see the colour or nature of the supple, unjointed arms that held his legs. He gave just one little sob of terror nearly lost in the rising storm, one little shiver, and then breathed deep to cry for help, though he feared it unlikely that aid would be near. The water song rose up around, deep and gurgling, and Iaun’s voice struggled to rise above it.

_Firstborn Child, alone and wandering_  
_Came not to the seas of sundering_  
_Cleaving to the forest wild, never rode the floating isle,_  
_Never saw the ships that burned,_  
_Never the water’s deep ways learned,_  
_Yet comes to my river to take his rest,_  
_Floating naked on my breast,_  
_You whose kin our summons spurned,_  
_But look at how the tides have turned,_  
_A fearless warrior on the land_  
_Twists and whimpers in my hand_  
_Perhaps by charm, perhaps by force,_  
_Shall I steal you to the river’s source._

And Iaun knew then who held him, for tales had come down to him, and the lore of Melian and Sérelókë had given him the rest, in their veiled talk of their kin. 

Not so long ago, Iaun would never have believed himself a player in such legends. Now his heart swelled beyond the fear, for although he was helpless, he thought perhaps now he understood how the beguiling art of song might move through even a voice so small as his. He opened his mouth to sing - and closed it again as water splashed in, as a twining tentacle pulled him down, and the source of the voice broke the surface and rose, singing clearer as air exposed him.

He was a handsome creature, features sharp and keen as a wolf of water - ears pointed, gills quivering. To the waist he wore a form like Iaun’s own in the greatest part, the shape of a son of Ilúvatar - but now Iaun knew well how such forms were mere clothing to the Ainur, to be changed or discarded at will. 

Thunder cracked violently, and vibrated the land down to the very bed of the waters. “Ossë,” Iaun breathed. “Are you not? Ossë Wind-tossed, Ossë Storm-raiser?”

“I am,” said Ossë, and tightened the coils tighter around Iaun’s thighs, smiling to show sharp teeth. In the flash of lightning Iaun glanced below, moved his own legs as much as he could to feel out Ossë’s shape with his skin. Below the waist, Ossë had granted himself a tangle of writhing, soft limbs, supple and grasping. Above the waist, he held Iaun’s shoulders with long-clawed hands, part covered in silver-green scales.

“Careful, careful - do you not know the peril that lies all along this wave-road?” Ossë spoke swiftly, and the rush of his breath was as white water on stones. Yet it had a sweet, enticing sound, and Iaun found himself glad to hear it more. “To the North, well you know what terrors lie there, but there are other dangers closer than you deem: water-sleepers are lost in the Falls of Sirion, down in the dark caves below ground where the waters run cold and black and there are creatures in them you would not care to meet. Brackish and thick the waters grow at the Aelin-uial, and many are the twisted branches where travelers lose their way for ever. Do you wish to float into danger while dreaming, with no weapons to hand and naked as a new-made form?”

Iaun held his body still, poised to spring, heart thrumming in his chest like the foot-falls of hunting-hounds, desperate for a chance to swim free and put some distance between himself and that voice. For though the being spoke of warnings, there was a tone to his speech that gave Iaun pause and troubled his senses. And still Iaun was more minded to listen; by now he thought his spirit was learning to scent the air of the Ainur and his heart could be swayed by the music of their voices. 

Clear it was that Ossë’s designs upon him were not primarily to protect, and his talk of warning might be a feint to lower Iaun’s guard. Beneath the water, Iaun’s legs parted slightly, and slick movements of Ossë’s waving limbs encouraged them to do so further. Perhaps he did indeed mean to swim between Iaun and greater peril - but that did not mean he was not a danger in himself. Among those Eldar who made their homes by the water, Ossë was loved much and yet trusted not, for he was much given to waves and wild winds, and his careless delight could bring death. Sharp were Ossë’s claws, and strange were his eyes, and the wind of his storm waved his hair as if he swam in water though he kept his proud head and broad chest high above the surface, swimming smoothly with his rippling limbs below, that tapped and slid gently over Iaun’s legs. And sometimes seemed to bend and ooze yet higher between Iaun’s thighs, taking liberties that yet still could be unintentional, just a product of the motions that kept the creature afloat - and Iaun too, in his grasp. He did not think the caresses were all accidental.

“I would take you further than this, if I could,” Ossë said with meaning doubled, his voice seeming to ripple the surface of the wind-whipped water, tickling Iaun’s chest and lapping over his shoulders like a licking tongue. “I would guide you past the perils, and bring you out onto the light of my domain, the Bay of Balar, where the last piece of the floating isle guards the mouth of the river and none may pass without my say. I will let you see the havens and harbours of your kin, and the cities they have built there. And such delights will I show you, my battle-scarred swimmer. You will not fear the storm for long, you will learn to love its wild power as I do. For I am its wild power, and I shall use it to pleasure you.”

Iaun shivered in Ossë’s grip as that voice drew deep and close, and the damp wind of the Maia’s breath caressed the deep places of his ear. “Why . . . why me?” he asked, trembling. For soon he would have to say that he was already claimed, and he did not relish facing Ossë’s wrath when Iaun would refuse to be stolen.

“Did you think I did not notice you have been taken before, little one? That I cannot taste the scent of the Western Lands upon you, and know that one of my kind has had the use of you?” Ossë’s long tongue came close - not at all Elvenlike, long and serpentine - and flicked near Iaun’s mouth, terrifying and tempting. “And do you think I cannot recognize the marks of his torment upon you? You will not speak of it, but you must know I have been in company of the Master of Torment, and I can read the speech of stripes upon skin. I will take you from the cruel master who holds you and wounds you, and I shall make you a far happier thrall. It is not in pain that you will cry out when you are mine.”

No, no, no, Iaun thought, his mind now racing in terror, for now Ossë’s true design could not be denied. Nor did the Maia deny what Sérelókë had whispered to Iaun in the true tale he told beneath the stories told openly, that the storm-making Maia of the Bay had sought out kinship with Melkor in his love of untamed power. What of your spouse? Iaun wanted to demand. What of fair, brave Uinen who was said to have been the one who argued the case of the Valar and brought her husband back from perdition, the only one known to have returned in that fashion? 

“My lady will be delighted with you,” said Ossë as though he had heard Iaun’s thought. “We have oft been generous with our pleasures, together. I shall tell her how inviting you were, unclothed and innocent upon my waters, and she will heal and soothe your hurt.”

And now Iaun shivered in conflict and fear, for a thin and supple finger of sensing flesh sent a tingling touch along the sinew of his inner thigh, and his desire stirred. Treacherous was his body, and yet his heart quailed and then hardened against the intrusion. How dare Ossë pronounce his judgments upon Iaun’s beloved, based on nothing but the marks of love freely given, and pain that became pleasure when agreeably shared?

“My lord Ossë,” Iaun said at last, careful to not give offense, for his unbidden desire was entwined with honest fear, and he felt his position precarious. “I do not wish to be anywhere but the home I have found in Doriath. Under the protection of Thingol and Melian. In the company of my friend among your kin, for I have chosen him as he has chosen me, and my service to him gladdens my heart.”

“Spoken as one whose mind may have been bent,” Ossë said with a gleam of his uncanny eyes as the sky darkened further, and all the river around them became a churning maelstrom, such that Iaun knew there would be no escape for him by swimming now. “Do you think I do not know how thralls are broken and changed by such cruelty? How their very thoughts may be warped by long lies and by false hopes? With my own eyes I have seen it!”

Iaun noticed then that as the waves swelled and surged in the storm of Ossë’s anger, the Maia began to look around him, subtly, his uncanny eyes sideways darting, his grip on Iaun tightening. Then Iaun fluttered between hope and even greater fear, for it appeared to him now that not all the storm was of Ossë’s making, and not all under his control any longer. Iaun knew not whether to shout or cower. For of all those beings mighty enough to drive a storm, not all of them would come to his aid, and many would make a captor far worse. For if Manwë ruled the winds and Ulmo the waters, there was one still greater who held a part of both their arts, and many were his servants.

Then a wave erupted in a spray of foam as lightning seared the sky, and as one with the thunder Iaun heard the deafening smack of a water-slap of a huge fluked tail. At first Iaun thought it might be fierce and fair Uinen who was wont to wear a whale-tailed shape, come to rein in her wayward husband’s wrath and bring him back from the edge of shadow, as she had done before if the lore was true.

But then Ossë howled in pain and rage, as if struck below the surface, and Iaun was whipped wildly about in the convulsions of his limbs, even choking briefly as his head was pulled for a moment beneath the surface.

There were two voices now in the wild wind, and they spoke a fierce tongue that hurt Iaun’s ears - until one changed his tone and began to chant words Iaun understood, and that voice made Iaun’s heart soar, for it was dear to him.

_Twice-treacherous Ossë, faithless plunderer,_  
_Release him now, this innocent wanderer,_  
_Quit the sweet water, back to the brine_  
_And never again try to steal what’s mine._

Wild in his fury was Sérelókë, greater than his usual size, and the lower half of his body wrought in one long and mighty tail of a sea-creature, azure and violet and inky black in shimmering scales. Snapping in the water like a sea-serpent enraged, he dealt Ossë great blows - and once, Iaun noted, accidentally striking far closer to Iaun than the Elf would have liked.

If Ossë was subdued for a moment, it was by the deep tones of Sérelókë’s voice, but he was roused again to wrath by the words.

“Yes, I was lured astray,” said Ossë. “I desired above all to practice my arts - my lightning and thunder, my wind and rain, my whirling foam-crowned waves, dark sky slashed by sword of light. And I was deceived, and then set to right again, and I serve no longer the Lord of Pain.

“And you, come fresh from Valinor, clear fresh scent of Taniquetil still upon you and Varda’s holy light in your eyes when you are not consumed with rage, Sérelókë. What is your excuse for treating a child of Eru so - claiming still to walk in light when you are cruel for no purpose and leave such marks upon one in your service and your care? Better I pull him down now into Ulmo’s realm and hold him there til his spirit takes flight to honest Námo and pitying Nienna. Let him suffer no more at your hand.”

“How dare you,” Sérelókë said, and low and dangerous was his voice, rising into a furious growl and seeming to to take on many tones. “How dare you. Harm him, and I shall see you returned to your true master, in whose image your heart seems now shaped. Your design was never to free Iaun, only to take him for your own, and now your false mercy is to threaten his life when you are challenged.” Sérelókë’s eyes seemed to blaze, and sharper now were his claws and teeth. “I followed the Noldor whom I deem fools to kill and die for stones, but this mine own treasure, I will fight for, unto such death as our kind can know - and if you kill him, I swear upon the thought of Eru of which we both are made, you shall not leave this cove alive.”

“Rash words, rash oaths,” said Ossë. “You are no slower to swear them than the fiercest of the Firstborn. I never meant to kill your thrall, and indeed to harm him less than you have done. I meant to keep him in greater ease and use him for kinder pleasure. But now I am half minded to do that which would bind you in your oath, for it would amuse me to see you try to slay me. Great you are in wit and reason when you are not driven half-mad by jealous guarding of your possession, but that is no weapon of war. And I have heard from wind and water how you mastered and mounted Gloomweaver and Firewhipper - but I know you slew them not, and I deem you would have done if you were able.”

“Then you deem wrong,” said Sérelókë, “and you know not my mind, Stormwreaker.”


	2. Chapter 2

Trembling in the grip of Ossë, Iaun had watched their sparring long enough - for he certainly desired to live, and desired as much to see Sérelókë unharmed, for Ossë seemed a fearsome foe. The sliding cords of muscle grasped him about his waist and hips and thighs, and Ossë’s limbs had not forsaken the sensitive places of Iaun’s body, and Iaun again felt himself at a disadvantage, with his inability to change his form to suit his thought as the Maiar did so easily.

Treacherous was the unchanging flesh that housed his spirit, for Iaun found Sérelókë beautiful and terrible to behold in his wrath, a sight as arousing as it was fearful, and his body was beginning to sing its yearning. And Ossë also was comely and deadly.

In the face of dangerous loveliness about to fight, and perhaps drown him by accident in the process, Iaun could be silent no longer, and he was nearly as startled as the others when he peeled away a thin but strong filament of Ossë’s flesh that had begun to bind him at throat and mouth, and there came forth from him a song of his own.

_My lords, you speak as though I have no voice,_  
_And mean to settle by combat, not by my choice_  
_Unfair, unkind, beneath your stature,_  
_Better still, a trial by rapture._

_You must know that service chosen_  
_Is not at all like being stolen,_  
_Desire colours every deed,_  
_And if I’m given what I need,_  
_How dare you judge my master’s marks,_  
_Knowing not what passion sparks_  
_In me when he draws near,_  
_What dangerous love, what tender fear._  
_Beneath his hand, my heart is brave,_  
_Deep in peril, at same time saved._

_If desire for that kind of handling,_  
_Is truly beyond your understanding,_  
_If you left Melkor’s realm undaunted_  
_And still know naught of pain that’s wanted,_  
_Then keep thy peace and set me free,_  
_I am where I want to be._

And then Iaun had only eyes for Sérelókë, for the expression upon his face was radiant, a joyous light filling his fierce features. Iaun knew he had showed his hand, and he regretted it not, for if die he must, it would be with his last sight of Sérelókë in such rapture.

Ossë seemed to lighten his grip a little, but he did not let go entirely, for he had clearly perceived that Iaun had not failed to respond to his caresses below the water’s surface. Iaun now felt less terror, for he had succeeded in persuading Ossë not to kill him for his own good. Rain pelted them all and streamed down in their eyes, still reflecting the water Maia’s pride and wrath. Sérelókë swam still closer now, his great tail swaying, water-weaving. 

Sérelókë was poised to spring and snatch Iaun from Ossë’s grasp, and warily now did Ossë follow him with his eyes.

“Trial by rapture,” Ossë said. “Do I take your meaning rightly, forest child?”

“No fair trial at all, in truth,” Iaun said defiantly. “For there is no possible outcome where I will willingly leave Sérelókë for your sake. Do not ennoble yourself by believing you wish only to help me, for I know your true intention. I do not seek rescue, and I am no coward in matters of pleasure. You are not unlovely, and these supple lower limbs of yours entice me.” And with that, Iaun smiled wide as he caught Sérelókë’s gaze.

“Iaun,” Sérelókë said, his voice deep and urgent and carrying above the storm’s roar as if they were side by side, and he gave his caressing commands directly into Iaun’s ear by some trick of his regal voice. “You do not need to prove your courage.”

“I am glad you found me,” Iaun said plainly, gazing at Sérelókë. “And timely indeed, I thank you. I would have you tell me how you knew where to look, for I so love the wondrous workings of your mind.”

The wind shuddered quietly one moment as Sérelókë raised his own voice.

_Habit’s creature, forest Elfling,_  
_Still curious of Aulë’s delving,_  
_First I sought you in the forges,_  
_For cuffs and collars for the orgies_  
_Draw your eye like strings draw cats,_  
_Thongs and chains, where those are made,_  
_For a while, you were happy watching that._  
_But then horn-cries like Oromë’s_  
_Often taunt the ear to stray,_  
_Any sort of similar sound,_  
_Reminds you that you’re underground,_  
_And makes you want to seek the sky,_  
_(I cannot blame you, so would I)_  
_Eyes for watching, thighs for running,_  
_Tracker lightfoot, archer cunning,_  
_Arms for climbing, skin for swimming,_  
_Mouth for kissing, arse for --_

With a furious splash, Ossë moved himself in between his captive and his rival.

His briefly amiable expression abandoned now, Sérelókë took on terrifying aspect, growing in size and showing a mien of such ferocity that even one who had briefly known the service of mighty and black-hearted Melkor quailed a moment in fright. “Do not dismiss the speech of my servant so lightly, Ossë, for though he is small in stature and not ranked among the great, he is a child of He who made us. Do not discount the quality of light conducted by a worthy vessel. We can waste our energies in windy bluster, as is your style, or we can consider the wisdom in his brave desires.” 

“My gratitude,” said Iaun, and Ossë turned back to him again with a twitch of surprise, as though he had for the moment forgotten that Iaun could speak. “You disapprove of my marks and my wounds, O Master of the Sea-Storm, but I contend my lord knows me, and he knows what I cannot bear, and there have been times when the depths of my lust for his strokes wearied even his trained and skillful arm. Now, if my lord Sérelókë judges aright, as he usually does, you threaten to take me not because you fear for me, but because you covet me. It is not rescue in your heart, but theft.”

“You have been bewitched by him and scarcely know your own mind any longer,” Ossë said. “Do you deny that?”

“I do deny it,” Iaun said adamantly. “And I take grave insult. In fact, I demand satisfaction.”

“As do I,” said Sérelókë, and though he kept his upper body above the water, in sight of Ossë’s wary eyes, his great tail fanned beneath the surface ever closer until Iaun imagined he could feel its pearly-black scales brushing his skin, even in between the fleshy limbs of Ossë’s that still gripped him. Sérelókë grinned, wide and dangerous, and his fangs shone sharp in the storm-dimmed light, his pale eyes flashing. Shimmering lightning edged his hair in silver when the sky flashed.

Iaun tried not to quiver and tense, tried not to give away his suspicion that Sérelókë was about to swoop in and grab him. He kept his movements steady, swimming with his arms to keep his head above the surface even if Ossë should forget to support him. And then he opened his mouth to gasp, to fill his chest with life-giving air should there be danger when Sérelókë moved in.

It became a rasping wheeze of shock - and wild delight - when instead Sérelókë’s claws clasped Ossë’s seaweedlike hair, tightened round his head and pulled him close. Rather than trying to take Iaun, Sérelókë claimed Ossë’s mouth instead in a vicious kiss. 

The thunder burst, shatteringly loud, the sound of Ossë’s surprise. Iaun bit his lip as the tentacles that held him below the waist rippled and shivered, thrashing in the choppy river and pressing between his legs.

Iaun watched the duel of their mouths unfold so close to him, saw glimpses of Sérelókë’s probing tongue - longer than usual it seemed. As Ossë’s grip below tightened, Sérelókë stole a hand round to grasp Iaun’s arm. Laughing low in his throat, eyes dark and promising much, Sérelókë drew a little way back and took in Ossë’s stunned and eager gaze.

Within the grasping coils, reaching out to brush the solid muscle of Sérelókë’s tail and Ossë’s tendrils, Iaun’s member stiffened proud and hot, utterly defeating the cold of the water. With a deep breath he submitted to stolen caresses and leaned his head back to make a slow, deliberate presentation of his vulnerable throat. Both kept close watch on Ossë’s response as Sérelókë took the gift, first kissing long and slow up and down, then sensing with serpentine tongue, then lightly scraping with his predator’s teeth. Iaun moaned and writhed in abandon when Sérelókë fastened his full lips on the exposed column and sucked.

And in that moment Ossë had tensed, moved to lunge if quick action were needed, but he had frozen then, still but for the motions of swimming, as he watched. Hungry were Ossë’s eyes as he openly admired what he saw, and Iaun bit his lip as a slick tendril slithered around his risen shaft, barely daring to tease him, and another finger of flesh came at him threaded through his legs, thick and solid and suggestive.

Iaun grasped at Sérelókë’s hand below the surface, hoping for a way to convey his thought that could be discreet and yet understood. Sérelókë gave a little hum and blinked, and a small roll of his hips against Iaun’s, a brief secret slap of a fin.

Iaun felt bold then, much safer with his companion close enough to touch, and he made use of Sérelókë’s hand - he pressed it for a moment to his own staff of flesh, fully hard and eager, and unafraid for all the danger it was in; surely Sérelókë must know that would only fill it further with rushing heat. And Iaun took notice of Sérelókë’s expression when his own fingers brushed the slick limbs of Ossë that gripped Iaun at hips and thighs. Sérelókë’s mien when he regarded the other Maia showed a mere glimpse of rage, and then he let his eyes fully darken with desire.

Quickly now did Iaun and Sérelókë share a glance between them - a smile, a flick of tongue, a subtle nod - and Iaun relaxed, sinking back in between two strong beings buoying him up. Limp in muscle and still, accepting, he felt the hand of Sérelókë brush his hip and continue on, sliding up the smooth strong tendril of Ossë, the one that felt most like a thick member of pleasure. Iaun felt the ripples all around his lower body as Ossë responded in surprise and delight.

With a grin, Iaun wriggled a hand free, and with a nod to Sérelókë, he reached out to touch Ossë’s face with one glancing stroke before sliding down his neck to his chest. “Did you imagine me a victim? Cowering in fear as Sérelókë beat me against my will? Did you suggest I do not know my own desires, that you, a stranger, know my heart better, that I somehow needed you to free me by taking me prisoner yourself? You gave me insult, Lord Ossë, and I request recompense for my honour, and for my lord Sérelókë’s honour. As you observe, a warrior I have been, and wounded much in struggle - I do not wish for battle now. I will take my due payment in pleasure.”

Ossë’s kiss tasted like seawater and smoke and the wild tingling air of an oncoming storm. Under the rush of excitement in his mind, there reached Iaun’s ears ears a low growl that could come only from Sérelókë. Whether it was rage or lust or both, Iaun could not discern for certain, and in his secret heart, he hoped for both.

Iaun felt Sérelókë’s hand nudging his long wet hair away, Sérelókë’s teeth brushing the nape of his neck as Iaun opened his mouth for the response of Ossë’s tongue - wordless and still speaking, telling of his acceptance of the terms. Iaun gasped into Ossë’s mouth as two hands brushed in turns over his swollen staff, swirling water around it and heating the little waves between them. Dimly he heard Sérelókë grunt in surprise, and felt his master’s scaled loins pressed to his rear - not by Sérelókë’s own motion but by a grasp of Ossë’s long lower limbs grasping them and pressing them together. Scales swayed slick and warm, supple muscles swimming against the backs of Iaun’s thighs, pressing them but a little further open, rubbing their texture on his most tender skin.

Iaun wriggled back against his own lover, eager to discover what form his male tool took in this new shape. Beneath the water he could not see, but he could feel graceful fins, light as a bird’s wings but strong, pulsing and rippling the water around his hips, and he felt slick scales parting against his skin, and something large and firm nudging him, soft and sensitive at its tip. Iaun gave a little wriggle again - and jumped as other limbs slid against him - Ossë had not released his hold nor relinquished his share. Jealously now did Sérelókë hiss at the other Maia over Iaun’s shoulder, and his teeth still showed a length and sharpness far greater than when he was in less primal, animalistic form.

“My lord,” Iaun said as Sérelókë wrapped an arm around his waist from behind, tight and possessing, claws resting against the softest part of his belly, but one flex of long fingers away from sinking in. “Do we not wish to accept this challenge? I wish it. Such is my trust in you. Have faith in me. You know my endurance and my appetite.”

“Beware, my Iaun. You swim in deep waters,” said Sérelókë, and he let his teeth graze the edge of Iaun’s ear, stopping just short of a bite as he rocked his tail against Iaun’s firm fundament, promising the Elf that yes, he did indeed have a great gift he was eager to give.

“You will not let me drown,” said Iaun with certainty. He turned his gaze back to Ossë and held his head high. “Do you still doubt my heart, or my courage, or my master’s protection? Speak now, I beg you, and we shall take leave of you if you doubt us. You sought a battle with him, but I place myself between you. I offer both of you the use of me, and so great is my lust for such handling that I will still want more when you both are sated. With my lord by my side and around me and inside me, I do not fear your storm, nor your tentacles that grasp me with the desire of a dozen grasping, thrusting members. I do not fear the theme of Melkor in your song, nor your delight in dread and shipwrecks, nor the vain rages of your waves that could take my breath for ever. I invite you to fuck me, and then I shall demand that you release me.”

“Do you understand now, Ossë Sky-Grumbler, Wave-Tosser?” said Sérelókë. “You have insulted my morality, but the worse insult you gave to Iaun - you doubted his honest desire for tests of lusty endurance, and his skill in surviving them. You doubted his wisdom to know his own heart and body. Only by accepting his challenge, and mine, will you satisfy the debt to our honour.” 

“Fair-spoken is your pet,” said Ossë, “and blunt of speech also; it is his appeal to raw desire that sways me, not your imperious commands or your petulance, Sérelókë. Well I remember how you have used your keen sight and quick thought to arrogant ends. You are fortunate indeed that He Who Arises in Might did not cast his eye upon you, or else you may have no dry land to stand upon and judge me. Pray he continues to not notice you, lest both you and your little forest sprite fall to great ruin. I will not be the agent of your undoing, though you both shall feel my sting.”

It was Iaun who gave a cry, pressed backwards against Sérelókë’s chest, as beneath the water’s surface, Ossë’s tentacles ceased their flirtatious dance and roughly grasped his legs, pulling them wide apart, as a slight and supple sinuous fingered tip probed between his staff and stones, in the cleft behind. Menacing was Ossë’s aspect, but his caresses were exploring and gentle.

 

“Is this your will?” Sérelókë asked, though Iaun was well aware he must already know the answer. “Is that pleasure in your voice?”

“It is, my lord,” Iaun gasped, nuzzling backward against Sérelókë’s sharp face and gilled neck as much as he could, bringing to bear all the postures of their games. 

“So be it,” Sérelókë said. “I deny you nothing.” And he spoke no more, but sank his teeth into the side of Iaun’s neck. With his strong hands he grasped Iaun’s wrists and held them still below the water’s surface, presenting his helpless front to Ossë, who ravished him with limbs and hands in scratching caresses.

Iaun shivered in his bonds, spread-open and touched more thoroughly than ever he could imagine. Yet safe he felt in his absolute violation as strange and slick appendages toyed with him. A fleshy tendril from Ossë’ wrapped around his left wrist, and then Sérelókë released him there and raised a large clawed hand to Iaun’s neck and held him fast, a loose but solid grasp against his pulse. With a nod Iaun spoke to him, for by this Sérelókë held Iaun in thrall and also in protection - Ossë could not pose a danger to Iaun’s breath now, whether by treachery or by throes uncontrolled.

So Iaun ceased all struggle against water and knew himself buoyed and held, pushing his loins backward with great wantonness - inviting Sérelókë to fill him first, of course, as was proper, but eager to see what Ossë’s counter-offer might be, how he might stake a rivalling claim.

“Come on then, “ Iaun said to Ossë. “How many members of pleasure have you? Surely that is more than one I feel slithering around me and knocking upon my hidden gateway. Free are you with your talk and your teasing, enough of it to turn my fear to desire twice over, and now my lord and I have called your bluff. So take a taste of what tempts you.”

With a low creaking sound strange in his throat, Ossë brought his hands to Iaun’s neck just above where Sérelókë held his wary grasp, and accepted the gift of Iaun’s turned-up mouth, soft and opened, tongue waiting, teeth parted. The supple and briney tongue of Ossë crackled in Iaun’s mouth like salt and spices, and Iaun moaned like low thunder as Ossë rippled against him front to front and his many limbs below pulsing and clenching in every place they grasped. With the weight of Ossë’s first advance, Iaun’s back pressed into Sérelókë - at chest and belly and swaying, thrusting tail, one solid long mass below his hips.

“You feel, but you do not observe,” Sérelókë said, and Iaun could not be sure whom he meant to rebuke. He cried out into Ossë’s mouth as Sérelókë pinched his nipples with his sea-beast claws, and Iaun savoured the sound of Ossë’s surprise - and the sensation of thin flesh tendrils rising from the water to sooth and tease him there beneath Sérelókë’s deft fingers. Little sucking circles on the undersides gripped and pulled at his sharply sensitive flesh, and as he helplessly bucked his hips forward, he felt his cock received by a slick-surfaced, spongy pulsing of smooth cords of muscle, looping and returning, constricting and releasing.

With a cry, Iaun let his head fall back upon Sérelókë’s shoulder. His surrender nearly complete, he offered his throat unafraid, and knew or cared not who held his hands down. Teeth danced upon the thin skin of his neck, scratching and pinching, not penetrating. Clearly now he could feel two mouths upon him there, one on each side, and he took Sérelókë’s words to heart, determined to both feel and observe, to remember the lessons sensation taught him, though he be overwhelmed and overcome.

“Ossë,” Iaun whispered. “Fine and delicate is the thread of yours that probes me; do not think I cannot feel it. Your stealth is thwarted by your lust, so there is no need to play the game for surprise anymore. There, I feel a hand exploring the place where you touch me. A hand - no, I believe, a fin. And that strong but silken fin” - he started to break his talk, breathing hard, yet determined to keep speaking - “it does, it has veiled a risen tool of the undine kind, which, heh, I believe your lady wife Uinen does not sport when she takes this form? I cannot see it. I can only feel it and know it belongs to my master, who is awaiting my pleasure for once. Touch me, Ossë. Breach me. Slide in sweetly, slick and slender.”

Sérelókë gave a growl and a push as he gripped tighter from behind, but he did nothing to gainsay Iaun. “You heard him,” he finally said, through clenched sharp teeth. “Obey his wishes or I shall consider you forsworn and feckless.”

Lapping at Iaun’s entrance like a cool slender tongue came one of Ossë’s fingerlegs, pushing and slicking. Iaun took the stretch open easily, accepting it into him. “He has begun, my lord,” he whispered to Sérelókë, panting. “The smallest of his many limbs has breached me, much less than I can take, kinder and softer than he could be. Let me touch you, let me lead you there, press in, take me, both of you fill me.”

Sérelókë laughed low. “I delight in your hunger.” He reached for one of Iaun’s hands and guided it to the rocking plane of his hips, trailed Iaun’s fingers over the edges of a velvet, fluttering slit where a thick and flexible rod emerged, even larger than his usual form. “Will you give me a little fear? I confess that I savour it, when I can still cause it.”

Iaun shuddered, yet did not move his loins away. Wantonly he moved, taking in Ossë’s small tentacle deeper and moaning low at its curving and wriggling within. “My lord,” said Iaun, voice shaking. “So many arms below does he have, I know this is not his staff he prods me with - I am not sure when I shall know it when I feel it. Touch me. Touch us. There - there he is, do you feel that?”

“Fascinating,” said Sérelókë on a long low breath as his hand left Iaun’s skin and slid up the slickness of Ossë’s tentacle, bringing it back then to tease alongside it with a fingertip at Iaun’s entrance. “Tell me how it feels. Think of how full you will be.” 

Ossë jumped a little at Sérelókë’s touch, for clearly his tentacles were sensitive, and there was a gasp as Iaun felt their bonds tighten - about him, about all of them. Sérelókë rocked his hips and grasped Iaun by the underside of one tightened buttock, to lay him open and pull him close at once. Sérelókë’s fins and scales rubbed him, and Iaun struggled to straddle that thick muscular tail that would not yet hold still enough to be ridden hard as Iaun yearned. “My master,” Iaun murmured. “I savour the slickness and the grasp. Ossë, I beg of you, give me more. Bite me, grasp me, open me, take--” his gasp strangled in the press of Ossë’s mouth to his, long tongue plundering as Sérelókë watched, close in, rapt. Until at last Sérelókë took hold of Ossë’s hair and pushed his own way into the wet nest of mouths, and both of them had at Iaun’s mouth with tongues and teeth. Iaun was nearly swooning as hands grasped at him and tentacles explored him.

Iaun was lifted slightly, water splashing around him to the waist, and for one moment only he dared to look down at the purple-blue appendages that twined around his hips, caught a glimpse of his own tawny wet hair and excited pink flesh before a pulsing squeeze of Sérelókë’s hand enclosed it and forced his eyes shut once again. Yet what wrapped his member shortly afterward had a different texture and shape, and he closed his eyes, feeling his shaft surrounded by something strong and soft and slick. The similar slim strand that rippled inside him was joined by something else probing him also - that he thought he recognised - slim and long, stiffer and bonier than a tentacle. “There I am,” Sérelókë murmured into Iaun’s ear as he began his own onslaught lightly with just a finger at first and then two, staking a claim inside.

When he opened his eyes he saw Sérelókë dragging his mouth down Ossë’s neck, biting at his shoulder, and tugging his hair as Ossë went pliant for a moment in their arms. And Iaun for a moment felt a jealous rush, quickly overwhelmed and drowned in delight at the music of Ossë’s pleasure and his own admiring of their combined beauty - sharp and wet and cruel.

There was a connection between all three of them now, intertwined, and Iaun imagined that the rippling pulses of Ossë’s tentacle inside him moved in concordance with Sérelókë’s tongue raiding his mouth, that Sérelókë’s fingers throbbed in an out of Iaun in a lewd caress of Ossë’s limb. Iaun thrilled to think that should the two Maiar become too lost in each other, they could be the death of him in their careless throes. This thought hardened his own cockstand further, and he began to writhe himself in their grip, undulating his hips as best he could in their captivity, chasing sensation wherever it burned brightest - backward and forward, side to side, hands and limbs rewarded him. 

“He truly wants more, does he not?” Ossë murmured, in awe.

“He does,” said Sérelókë, and Iaun flushed warm to hear the pride in his voice.

Ossë’s tentacles pumped at Iaun’s staff harder as Sérelókë’s hand guided him, and Iaun had to stop for just a moment lest he spend too soon. He heard Sérelókë’s deep laughter, and felt a grip tighten around his base, holding the whitewater rush of his pleasure still and denied. “Keep a loop tight around him here, brother,” Sérelókë whispered salaciously to Ossë. “If you keep him on his edge long enough, his cries are exquisite just before he breaks and begs.”

Iaun was near the moment of beginning to beg, for he desperately craved more sensation and stretching inside his aching, teased passage; clenching around the slim digits that teased him. “Surely this is not all you have to give me,” he managed to murmur, and was pleased with himself for managing a tone of insolence.

The large hand grasping his hip belonged to Sérelókë, as did the deep voice in his ear. “Did you think I had forgotten how greedy you are? How impatient? You would do well to learn you are as immortal as Ossë and I unless you are slain, your time no shorter than ours. Well, you will not learn patience this day, for my kinsman is eager to feel me too. Breathe now. Relax. Open to us, gently, slowly. I will not have thee injured in careless haste. Trust now.”

There was a low, velvet hum in Iaun’s ear now, working upon his spirit as well as his flesh, and massaging strokes upon his hips and his thighs and his cock, coming from so many directions he could not lean into or against them all. The pulsing thrusts of thin tentacle and finger within him turned to gentle ripples, as soothing and soft as throbbing flesh could charm itself to be. Iaun strove to give himself up entirely, still all his body’s resistance as something large and blunt began to push within.

For just a moment he tensed, resisting, and the hands and limbs that held him also stilled. Ossë it was who was singing low in his throat; Sérelókë it was who unwound the tense cords of Iaun’s shoulders and neck with kisses, and with the water cradling and filling him, Iaun leaned his head back into his master’s arms, and at last fully allowed himself to be opened more fully. Slow and determined was the stretch as the full girth of that fleshly rod filled him; hungry and startled was the rumbling thunderlike groan of Ossë as he felt the full pressure of Sérelókë’s great slick tool pressing against him, moving against his own tentacles deep in Iaun’s tight heat. Scarcely had Iaun given himself up enough to accept it when Ossë roared quietly and gripped him with his graspers and pushed another rippling filament into him alongside.

“Are you able to take us both, little one?” Ossë’s managed to hiss out, his eyes gone slitted and strange, and Iaun had little faith in his concern. 

“With . . . pleasure,” Iaun said, and felt Sérelókë caress his belly with clawed hand, giving himself leverage for slow, sliding movements, careful but firm. Iaun wondered if, when those strong fingers pressed in, if he could feel small swells in Iaun’s body with each of his rocking pushes, now going ever deeper.

“How tight this is,” said Sérelókë, low and raw-voiced, snapping his teeth at Iaun’s ear. “How you grasp us inside and press us together. Look at Ossë’s face, love, see how he swoons, feel how he flails. One would think he is being fucked as full as you are to see him. But you bear it so beautifully.”

“One would think you desire him also, my lord,” said Iaun, with as much of a wry smile as he could muster between his increasing gasps for breath. Water splashed up against him, between their three squirming bodies.

“Did I ever deny it?” asked Sérelókë, reaching out to seize Ossë again by the neck, to draw him close to hear the lusty sounds of slapping and splashing.

“Sérelókë,” Ossë cried in broken voice, tightening his clasping tentacles around Iaun’s body, and reaching a few past him, to catch Sérelókë about the waist, to twine around his lashing tail and bind them all together in a writhing knot of grasping. “I feel you. Hard against me, pressed tight.” 

Iaun made a strangled sound as one of Ossë’s tentacles inside him stiffened and thrust sharp, jolting and pulsing. Iaun nearly swooned at the building pressure within him, against that place inside the cradle of his hips that swelled with aching warmth, bringing him close to his edge. Sweat and water stung his eyes, and he reached out through the tangle of limbs that held him pinned open below the surface, struggling to spread his thighs even further, to capture Ossë and hold him trapped within and below and around, to not let him go until both Ossë and Sérelókë were done and had fucked Iaun into trembling oblivion.

“Hold on now, my dear,” said Sérelókë to Iaun, sharp teeth hidden between soft lips, kissing as gently as his hips plundered cruelly, and his tail lashed the water deep, bucking him back and forth in the stormy swells beneath the sodden skies. “Move with me. This is a dance you have mastered. Even I have learned things from you, the rhythms of your body as you take me in so deep. There. I feel you; you feel me; I feel him; he feels us both. Watch him now and fear not. I vow I shall hold tight to you. Do not let go of me.”

Iaun shivered in delight and wondered much at what his master planned, for Iaun was certainly not about to go anywhere; held tight at wrists and thighs, thrice impaled and stretched wide, filled nearly to his limit, slick skin pressing all around his staff and stones fit to burst with pleasure.

With one last mighty heave, Sérelókë whipped his great tail up from underneath, through the forest of Ossë’s squirming limbs, slapping his scales through the tangle of flesh until his great flukes lashed Ossë’s back. Ossë cried out with a howl that was cut short by a sharp grasp of Sérelókë’s claws at his throat.

Bucking and thrashing, Ossë’s body squirmed desperately as Sérelókë’s tail whipped him, and gill-slits flared in his neck and the side of his chest, drawing from the water the life that Sérelókë’s strangling denied him.

Wild in his triumph, Sérelókë sang.

_Did you forget how to escape_  
_All you must do is change your shape,_  
_In pleasure’s grip you lose yourself_  
_All wise creatures - Vala, Maia, Elf,_  
_Grow foolish in the storm of blood_  
_Rising, pulsing, branching bud_  
_Swelling, craving, building heat,_  
_Binding spirit to starving meat,_  
_Yet mighty ones to flesh might bend_  
_If it serves us in the end_  
_Desire betrays and wit deceives_  
_And feel how much my squire receives -_  
_And still craves more, his lust unbroken -_  
_And that is power, plainly spoken._  
_If you dismiss what I have taught you,_  
_Know that it was HE who caught you._

Entranced by this truth did Ossë fall forward, his own song growing in volume even as he lost words.

“Become a weapon for me to wield, my jewel,” Sérelókë whispered. “As my own prick is buried deep in you, I must borrow yours to fuck him as he needs. Relax and let me work through you.” 

“As you wish,my lord,” Iaun said. “Use me as you will - just please, I beg you, if I have served you well, please do not withhold my reward much longer.”

Ossë whimpered as Sérelókë pulled him in close by one grasping limb. Against his thighs Iaun could feel Sérelókë’s other hand taking Iaun’s own, pressing it in between all of Ossë’s swirling, thrashing tentacles until he found a hidden jewel, a tight-furled entrance fluttering and slick to his touch. With a growl he heaved up Ossë’s hips til they tilted forward and were met by the desperate head of Iaun’s enchanted, long suffering cockstand. 

“Now you are mine so completely, your body feels like part of me,” Sérelókë said to Iaun. “Move as mine own created flesh would, servant to my thought alone.” Iaun surrendered to the great rippling swell of that powerfully muscled tail as it tilted his hips up and forward and into the soft pulpy tangle of Ossë’s nether region. Shuddering and shaking was Iaun’s cry as the head of his shaft pushed inexorably into Ossë’s hidden hole, as Ossë squirmed and writhed - but his tentacles pulled them in, not away, and he was wantonly rocking forward to take the intrusion deeper in, not to repel it. The fleshly columns swirling around Iaun’s own entrance redoubled their soft but firm assault.

He groaned deep, a resonating, windy sound. For a moment Ossë slumped limply from the waist up, leaning against Iaun’s shoulder, and Iaun took that moment to taste his neck, his jaw, his lips; the hint of salt and the taste of the air before the lightning strikes, the smell of the oncoming rain. And then Iaun was lost as Ossë began to sing a vibrating, wordless song that matched the pulses of his tentacles, harmonising with a similar sound from Sérelókë. Caught in the crossbeam of sound, Iaun felt himself stretched and squeezed, clenched by Ossë’s tightness and reamed wide by fleshly spears and tongues and that great pole he was certain was Sérelöké’s claim within him, moving between the thinner organs of Ossë. Helpless at last Iaun fell to his master’s will, floating on his thrusts as a leaf on the waters.

“So good, Iaun - so pliant, so strong, so responsive to me.” Iaun bucked forward as one of Sérelókë’s claws scratched and pinched a tight-pointed nipple. He wanted more, a greater sting, a little blood in the water slapping up against Ossë’s fair chest, more bruises from the many limbs that clutched at him. As if in response to his craving, one of Sérelókë’s big hands cupped one of his spread, flexing buttocks and dug in sharp nails, scoring and piercing his flesh. Iaun groaned and pressed himself into that grip as Sérelókë’s hips thrust forward, taking control of the rhythm of all three of them.

Held open so, Iaun could freely savour the sensation of the multiple members and limbs that penetrated him, and the slick suckling of the warm opening that gripped him. There was nothing below his shoulders that was not pleasure, and there was nothing in him that did not open, accept, move, and crave as he gave himself utterly to wanton sensation, letting the two great Maiar have at him at their will.

“My lord,” he managed to whisper at the last, his hand gripping Sérelókë’s wrist that bound him. “I cannot hold off my peak much longer.”

“Do not hold it off at all,” Sérelókë said with shuddering thrusts. “Let us feel it. Give it to us. Now.”

Iaun screamed and nearly swooned, water rushing into his mouth for a moment before Sérelókë held him up again, his body shaking and clenching, letting the heat of his two lovers pin and squeeze him tight as he nearly bucked them loose. Clawed hands held him steady by hips and thighs and continued to rut with him until they had both used his limp, slackening body for their own pleasure, and lightning lashed the sky once again as Ossë flailed and released, crying out to the clouds. 

Iaun closed his eyes and kept them shut.

With a soft cry he fell backwards and let all his muscles go soft and limbs floating. 

Strong hands caught him - as he had hoped - holding his head up above the water. In his swoon, he perceived a hiss on his master’s part, as Ossë withdrew and backed away, swimming and stirring the water with his many languid limbs.

Iaun winced but a little as the sudden emptiness of his fundament released great floods to the waters. Yet it was not a complete release, for Sérelókë kept his own shrinking member within, and did not withdraw just yet.

Keeping the water waves rippling with slow steady beats of his tail, Sérelókë held Iaun tight against him as he moved slowly until the firmness of his cockstand failed at last and he slipped loose, waking Iaun from his sleepy doze with a light nip of his teeth upon his shoulder.

Ossë looked upon them with heavy, hooded eye, the energy of his storm flagging. He smiled a grin of sharp teeth, and he smelled of summer rain upon forest moss.

The river surface rippled anew and stirred the reeds and whipped the trailing willow strands. From the riverbank rose another head, watching. The voice of the riverplants spoke softly, dryly.

“Did my husband trouble you overmuch?”

“No, my lady Uinen,” said Sérelókë. “‘Twas merely a challenge to keep us fresh. Perhaps next time we may have the honour of your company as well. I suspect my Iaun could easily have endured all this and still pleasured one more, could you not?”

“Mmm, I could have done indeed, my lord,” said Iaun. “And forgive me should I speak too free in my lazy pleasure, but do you not already know I take delight in the female form as well as the male?”

“I had noticed that,” Sérelókë said, laughing. “Take your weary spouse home, fair lady, and let there be no grudge between us, unless it be because we have worn him out too much for you to have much use of him this night. Yet I will not be gainsaid in my vow - I will not have my fair one harmed or taken from me, by the likes of him or any even mightier.”

“It was indeed a breach of manners, Sérelókë,” said Uinen, and her laughter lapped like moonlit water. “I would not have one so fine as Iaun feel the slightest fear to let my waters lick his lovely skin.”

“The memory will not be entirely unpleasant,” Iaun said, bowing low til his forehead brushed the surface, and rising up again with a smile.

“Indeed, if I must sleep the next two moonrises through, I have only myself to blame,” Ossë said wearily.


	3. Chapter 3

Sérelókë spoke very little as he watched Iaun dress on the riverbank, hands slightly shaking and knees slightly trembling. When Iaun turned away and half-scrambled up the tree to fetch his bow and quiver and sword belt where he’d hung them, he heard a sort of whirring splash in the river and saw a shimmer of cool blue light that was not entirely Tilion’s reflection upon the calming surface.

Sérelókë stood at the water’s edge in his Eldar form now, night-blue robe parting at the sides to show off his finely-wrought knee-high leather boots and the snug grey breeches that clung to his thighs - emphasizing the shape he most commonly wore, no tail in sight. The cool breeze moved his cloak and his hair, and sharp as starlight were the twin points of his pale eyes.

Iaun nearly fell from the tree. Sérelókë caught him and held him steady, and into the forest they walked, towards the long bridge and guarded gate. Sérelókë kept a hand at Iaun’s arm, and seemed to loom taller as they marched between the great beeches. Iaun was more aching and weary than he had known, and was grateful that Sérelókë sometimes held him up when he threatened to stumble. But his companion’s face was shuttered and closed to him, unchanging and rigid in the silver light. Sérelókë did not speak. Iaun could not read his heart, except to know that it beat strong and steady. If Sérelókë was angry, he thought, he would accept his punishment - unless it was an anger or a hurt so deep that he would be done with their games, and Iaun would have to face the only punishment he truly could not bear, that of being cast away for good.

Yet Iaun grew a small spark of anger at that thought - for had Sérelókë not praised his courage and his capacity for strange lust, his quality of fearing no challenge in the erotic realm? If Sérelókë had deduced where Iaun had gone - and he had - and read aright the meaning of Ossë’s affrontery - and he had - could he surely not also read that Iaun meant no disloyalty? For if Sérelókë could truly not bear to have Iaun’s body shared, he should have said so, and he should have renounced his own strategy of conquest of fearsome creatures. Sérelókë had hardly quailed from Ossë’s touch, after all.

Wait and see, wait and see, Iaun thought. In our bedchamber, much is revealed that is hidden elsewhere.

 

His skin was still wrinkled and his hair still damp from his long time in the river, so Iaun was surprised when Sérelókë brought him first to the steam rooms and baths, stripped him again and washed him.

Iaun started to speak. Sérelókë shushed him with a touch, a press of a soft washing-cloth to his lips, with gleaming eyes. He looked Iaun up and down and scrubbed most gently in every place where Ossë had touched him, every cleft where Ossë had been in him. Warm blooms of soft pleasure formed and faded everywhere, and Iaun shivered in amazement as Sérelókë healed every mark that he had not himself made.

In the warm waters, sultry with steam, Iaun tried to trap Sérelókë’s hand against his breast or his waist or between his thighs, to coax some word or cry from him, to lure him on to show his heart in lust or anger.

Sérelókë did not speak, but he smiled as he held Iaun at short distance, drying him with lush cloths and combing and rebraiding Iaun’s hair. Wrapped in Sérelókë’s cloak, Iaun was led at last to their chambers along a lane of carved-stone trees, into their bedroom lined in dark polished wood, with the gleaming gems of artificial stars above. 

Weariness took Iaun at last as Sérelókë stoked the pale fire in their hearth with a wave and cupping of his hands. In the golden light, Sérelókë’s eyes were warm and his touch tender as he bent to the footpost of the bed, and with a soft jingling held up the past days’ addition: a silversheen chain and an exquisite leg-band, lined in suede and silk and turned perfectly to a mold of Iaun’s ankle.

Iaun nodded as Sérelókë peeled back the lush blankets and plumped the pillows, sitting by bed’s edge with the anklet extended.

Such was the potency of his partner’s touch that Iaun’s hips bucked suddenly against the springy-soft mattress when Sérelókë first touched him with the cuff’s lining and its sublime texture, the sky-shine gleam of the metal. Iaun received just a hint of rebuke and reward, a quick and firm grasp of the flesh of his calf to hold him still. And Sérelókë smiled with many meanings as he drew Iaun’s foot onto his lap.

“Alert you are, always,” he said, his first words in quite some time. His voice was deep and low and magnificent, fine dark wood mirth-gilded. His hands were as warm as the anklet was cool; his thighs were warm and lush beneath Iaun’s outstretched legs, and here in their bedchamber all the air seemed to fill with the scent of him, surrounded with the rich mossy smoke of their hearth-fire. “Keen is your eye, and most of all . . . “ he turned his upper body around now to lean over Iaun. Iaun writhed sharply again when he felt the silver shackle click shut, cradling his ankle in a soft-sheathed seal. “You respond to me . . . instantly.” 

Iaun forced himself to lie still when every instinct within him screamed to reach out and draw Sérelókë to him. He watched Sérelókë’s face reading that stilled impulse, letting those gull-grey eyes caress him.

Having Iaun safely chained now, Sérelókë rose from the bed and went to the sideboard, and reached for the little bottle that Iaun knew held the precious elixir _miruvórë_ , straight from Valinor. There had been little enough of it when the lady Lúthien made her gift of it, and though they often tasted of it, their supply seemed never to dry up completely. Iaun was not certain who was responsible for that enchantment, but it seemed another face of the natural state of Doriath. 

Iaun smiled as Sérelókë brought the cup round, keeping his eyes downcast, and felt the Maia’s hand warm and solid at the center of his chest, splaying his long fingers out, at last turning Iaun’s face up to his. Naked was the light of his eyes, bright beyond bearing. Iaun blinked but once, and then accepted that gaze with his own, though it slightly hurt him.

Sérelókë turned the delicate cup against Iaun’s lips, and he drank at his master’s nod. The honey flood was soft and warm, soothing his hard-used throat. “You are not angry with me, then?” Iaun finally asked.

Sérelókë looked nearly startled at this. “Can you not read me better than that by now? No, I am not angry any longer.”

“Bold I was, and forward,” Iaun said wryly. Sérelókë nodded, and took a sip of the golden brew himself before extending the cup to Iaun again. Daringly, Iaun laid his own hand over Sérelókë’s as he took his second draught. Warm and strong he felt, and there was a soft sound from him, a low sigh.

“You were, and you have a most impressive . . . capacity. I’ve always known you have a mighty appetite for such games, that is a quality of yours I admire and enjoy,” Sérelókë said, and there was a merry light about him now, sparkling pale gold like the miruvórë. Then it steeled and darkened as his face did, and he took Iaun’s hand in his, a fingertip to his full lips for a moment, and then a tiny threat, a bite of warning. “That is not what displeased me. It is the fact that you were, for a time, in danger. Double-edged is your great gift of courage. Beware. Do not risk yourself more than you must. Must I keep my chain upon you always? I would prefer that my word and yours be enough.” 

“I am no child, to be cosseted and sheltered,” Iaun said. “As you well know, I was a warrior long before my path crossed yours, and I am one still in time of need.”

Sérelókë’s face grew grim. “Did I not say I do not doubt your courage? Nor do I deny your skill.”

“You cannot bear to think I might be harmed,” Iaun said before he could hold the words back, his face opening in awe as he saw for a moment the truth of Sérelókë’s heart.

“Hush,” said Sérelókë, his face closed again. Tenderly he traced a hand down Iaun’s cheek, and pressed him down against the mattress, pushing him about until he had Iaun curled on his side. Sérelókë stroked Iaun’s forehead with his fingers and pressed his lips to Iaun’s neck, and murmured soft words, soothing and warm, as he twined himself about Iaun, flush against his back so no air even could pass between them.

Iaun just barely had time to realise that Sérelókë had been enchanting him, for the sweet relief of sleep weighed his limbs and head with greater force than usual. He only minded a moment, and then he surrendered to the call of Lórien’s dreams, tight and warm in his master’s arms - perhaps a danger in itself - in a profound sense of safety.

When he woke at the chimes of gold-light that heralded Arien’s rise above the city ceiling, he found Sérelókë absent. On the small table by their bed was an ornate little key on a delicate chain.

Iaun reached out and caressed it with one finger. He would free himself, he would rise and take breakfast, and then he would go about the city and seek him whom his fëa loved, who would likely be making a nuisance of himself among the lore-masters or the forge-crafters or the soothsayers who read the wind and water for signs of oncoming war. Iaun would follow the trail in his heart, a chain that bound them that he valued above any jewel, for it could never be stolen away.


End file.
